


Ritual (6): A&T&FYSS

by mystery_sock (terebi_me)



Series: Ritual [6]
Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Adulting Fail, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Brother/Brother Incest, Closeted Character, Fetish, Getting Back Together, Growing Up, Hugs, Infidelity, It's Hard and Nobody Understands, M/M, Nathan POV, Petrellicest, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Season/Series 01, Ritual, Superpowers, Tenderness, True Love, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 09:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19060165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terebi_me/pseuds/mystery_sock
Summary: What happens when the ritual is delayed and violated? Well, for one thing, Nathan flips out. And, in his own way, Peter flips out, too.





	Ritual (6): A&T&FYSS

**Author's Note:**

> [original note] Mostly Nathan's perspective. Lots of dialogue, lots of emotional exploration. All about that one time when Peter failed to respond to Nathan's call, and what Nathan does about it, and a silly phrase that takes on a whole world of meaning. Also, it's about how incredibly difficult it is to find time to have a secret affair when you're a Petrelli. Happy birthday to Charlie Andrews on April 24... April showers, it’s been stormin’ all week. A thousand paper cranes for you, dear.
> 
> [updated note] All my thanks again to thealexandriaarchives for dragging me out of obscurity and helping me port these stories over from LJ.

_FIVE YEARS BEFORE THE ECLIPSE..._  
  
Always and totally and forever your sex slave.  
  
Something Peter had first said to Nathan, on the Saturday morning of their weekend alone at the Vermont summer house, stupid with post-coital bliss after his third time getting fucked in twelve hours. After waking Nathan up and demanding to be fucked again, promising breakfast in bed, the first hot shower, Nathan's choice of music on the radio for the whole weekend... anything.  
  
Nathan thought at first that it was just some random hormonal teenage bullshit from a kid who had just lost yet another aspect of his virginity and enjoyed the hell out of it. But Peter said it again, more than a year later, when they were alone for two hours (ostensibly seeing a movie that they had both already seen). And again later that same week (twenty minutes stolen, in yet another bathroom, Peter arched back over the sink, Nathan's mouth on his cock, pitch-dark with the lights out, almost perfect silence until Peter's sibilant whisper of those words yet again).  
  
Nathan could never forget that phrase. He couldn't forget anything that happened between them, though sometimes he wished he could. He wished they would both forget it. He didn't like needing something so much. Peter seemed fine with the need. With needing things in general.  
  
It was different for Nathan.  
  
The next time they got together, late in the evening after Nathan helped Peter move into his own apartment, Peter pillow-talk joked that he was going to get the words tattooed on his heart. Nathan didn't find it a very funny joke, mostly because he wasn't sure if Peter was actually joking. Peter was weird. He actually did things like that. Nathan kissed Peter on the breastbone and said with utmost seriousness, "If you get that tattoo, I'll never fuck you again." Peter chuckled a little at that, but didn't reply.  
  
The day after, Peter sent Nathan a text message about when they were meeting Mom for dinner the next night, and at the end was **A &T&FYSS**. And Nathan had to leave his office, go to the restroom, and hide in a stall so that he could clench his fists and hyperventilate in private. He checked his cell phone a good ten times to reassure himself that he'd erased the message, and every time he clicked his phone closed, he wished that he was punching Peter in the face.  
  
_Why do you have to make me feel this way?_  
  
At dinner, Nathan waited until their mother had gone to the bathroom before he even hinted at anything to Peter. As soon as Nathan watched her disappear around the corner, he turned to Peter with a scowl. "You think you're pretty funny, don't you?" he hissed. Peter innocently blinked and shook his head. "Your little text from earlier. Your little ' _sig_.'" Peter acknowledged that with a naughty, self-satisfied smile, and Nathan clenched his fists on top of the table. "This isn't high school; we aren't passing notes. You could get me into a lot of trouble."  
  
"Over an acronym? Please." Peter looked away and topped up his wine glass. He was all cleaned up for the night for Mom, in a nice jacket and crisp shirt, slick-shaven, his over-long hair brushed back from his forehead and fixed in place with pomade or something. He was visibly uncomfortable with looking nice for a change, and if Nathan were honest with himself, he'd admit that he preferred Peter a little disheveled. But that would mean admitting that he was checking his brother out. Finding him desirable in any sense of the term. Right now, Nathan preferred to savor his chance to be genuinely mad at Peter.  
  
Nathan took the wine bottle away and set it out of Peter's reach. "Dude, you're not legal. Chill out."  
  
" _You_ chill out. We're in an Italian restaurant and I'm twenty. And it's an acronym."  
  
"It's an initialism. What if someone asks me to explain what it means?"  
  
"You're a hotshot lawyer; you'll think of something." Peter glanced around their table, observed no one watching, then leaned closer to Nathan to murmur, "Just memorize it and it'll be easier to substitute something else. Always. And totally. And forever. Your sex slave." He punctuated it with a smile. "If you decide one day that you don't want this anymore, then we won't do it. We can't do it. But as long as you want me..." He shrugged. "It's your call. That's why I'm your slave."  
  
Nathan pointed his finger at Peter, about to set him straight about a thing or two, but their mother chose just that moment to return to the table, asking, "What are you falsely accusing Peter of this time? Whatever it is, forget it. It's Mother's Day and I order you both to pretend that you're getting along."  
  
Nathan never had a chance to yell at Peter any more that night, and then weeks and months passed, time blunting first Nathan's annoyance, then any conscious thought of why he was annoyed in the first place. Nathan lived his life. His career continued its upward trajectory. Obstacles in his path were overcome. He became a new father, and saw Peter only in passing, at family gatherings; surprisingly, Peter didn't seem terrifically interested in the baby, or in Nathan, or any of the family, for that matter. He was preoccupied with school and work, doing it all on his own, and suddenly nobody saw much of Peter.  
  
For a while, Nathan was grateful to not have to worry about... all that.  
  
But as Peter-free months piled on top of each other, Nathan began to notice things that reminded him of his brother. A particular swing of dark hair across a pale face, the sound of Simon shrieking with happiness when Nathan played Toss and Catch the Baby, someone on the street wearing the same kind of shoes that Peter wore. It happened more and more often until, every day, Nathan saw or experienced something that brought the lack of Peter into his mind. He put away his photographs of Peter, made love to Heidi every day (or tried to; she was too tired dealing with little Simon to be particularly interested in sex), threw himself into his work, hoping it would stop, but it only got worse.  
  
A stupid rap song Peter loved, playing on the radio of a car waiting at a traffic light. Some article on the nursing shortage in the _Journal._ Talking to his increasingly moody and withdrawn father, who asked Nathan how Peter was doing. "You see him all the time, don't you?" Dad said. "He won't return my calls. I just tried to do what was best for you both, and I refuse to apologize for that. How is he? It feels like it's been forever since I've seen him. He doesn't... hate me, does he?"  
  
Nathan lied and said Peter was fine.  
  
Nathan found himself zoning out at work, playing with a little pewter monkey that Peter had given him, which he kept in a desk drawer at his office. Nathan didn't want the stupid monkey, really had only accepted it because it was a gift, and he sure as hell wasn't going to keep it in plain view. But it was cool and pleasing to the touch, and turning it over and over in his fingers, he figured, would help him clear his mind and get his thoughts back on the case.  
  
Instead, it obliterated all thoughts but those of Peter.  
  
Nathan didn't believe in signs and portents; it had just been too long since he'd seen Peter, that was all. When Nathan wanted something, he went after it; overthinking just wasted time. He picked up his phone and dialled Peter's number.  
  
"Mmmrrr? M'm... Hello?" Peter yawned.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, you're sleeping, aren't you? It's Nate. I forgot about your schedule. Call me back later."  
  
His brother's voice was blurry, and Nathan pictured Peter with the phone pressed next to his sleep-sweaty face, under the covers. _Wishing he was there._ "No, no, what is it?"  
  
"I just... I wanted to say hi. I miss you."  
  
"Mm-hm," Peter murmured, and yawned again. "That's a good reason to call."  
  
"I want to see you," Nathan said.  
  
"I'll have to get back to you with my schedule." Peter paused, then said, "But yeah. I dunno. Coffee or something."  
  
"I thought maybe you'd want to go to a bar, now that you're twenty-one."  
  
"Yeah, I dunno. Maybe. I'll call you back, okay?"  
  
"Okay, I mean..." Nathan began, but Peter cut him off.  
  
"Okay. Love you bye." Click.  
  
Nathan frowned, and slipped the pewter monkey into his pocket.  
  
Peter never called back that day, and Nathan got too busy to call Peter again. He brought the monkey home, and then back to work with him, and touched and rubbed it often all day, as if it were an idol or a magic lamp that would make Peter call. Lunchtime came and went with no call, and Nathan's colleagues wondered aloud what the hell Nathan was playing with in his jacket pocket.  
  
He brought it out and showed it to them. "Oh, it's just this thing my brother gave me," he said. "I brought this so I'd have a reminder to call him once I get back. By the way, excuse me, I should call him before the afternoon sessions."  
  
Peter answered almost immediately, sounding annoyed. "What is it?"  
  
"It's your brother, Pete. Remember, the one you were supposed to call back twenty-four hours ago?"  
  
"Relax! So it's been twenty-four hours. You're addicted to technology... to instantaneous communication. Your head would have exploded in the days of the Pony Express."  
  
"Yeah, I'm a telegraph kinda guy. So... I still want to see you, for some reason. I'm starting to forget what that reason is. What's with the attitude?"  
  
"The attitude is I'm tired and I'm trying to sleep. I had to work a thirteen-hour shift because everybody's out sick, and I missed my morning tutoring appointment, which means that I'm out twenty bucks and Manny Gonzales is probably going to fail his ESL exam, and it's nobody's fault but it still fucking sucks. Okay?"  
  
Nathan let all that roll off him. "So, um, what's your schedule look like?"  
  
Peter gave a heavyweight sigh. "It looks like you're my number one priority, so... whenever. I told you that."  
  
"Saturday afternoon," Nathan sighed, just wanting to get off the phone now. "I'll call you."  
  
"That's fine. I'm just studying that day. Just... yeah."  
  
"All right, bye," said Nathan, hanging up. He took the pewter monkey out his pocket and put it back in the desk drawer, closing it with a slam.  
  


* * *

  
Saturday noon. Nathan made his excuses and covered his tracks; if there was some kind of horrendous family emergency, he'd be screwed, but under ordinary circumstances, he had it covered. He groomed, shaved, brushed his teeth, and got in the car, heading for town before he called Peter. He was so excited to see Peter, his senses so heightened by the risk, that his head filled with an impossibly high-pitched ringing tone. He remembered this feeling from going on missions, with the knowledge that he, or his fellow peacekeepers, might get shot up, might get killed, might not be coming back. If he had that feeling, he knew he was okay; it had been the one time that he went out on a mission feeling completely relaxed and confident that he got nailed.  
  
His shrapnel scars had been aching recently, too, and that always made him think of the softness of Peter's lips on them.  
  
On the line, Peter's phone rang and rang. And went to voicemail. "You've failed to reach Peter Petrelli. Leave a message and I'll get back to you if I can."  
  
"Peter, where are you? Call me back. I'm on my way in."  
  
Nathan called again fifteen minutes later. "You've failed to reach Peter Petrelli."  
  
And again in an hour. "Leave a message..."  
  
And another hour, after Nathan had stopped in the East Village to get a coffee. "...And I'll get back to you if I can."  
  
"You little shit!" Nathan screamed into the phone, making the passersby on the street stare at him. "It's Saturday! Where the fuck are you? _I need this!_ " Nathan drew in a deep breath, wrenching his voice back under control, wrapping up his rage tightly and tucking it away for future use. "Peter," he continued in a reasonable tone, "I really... need... to see you. But I have to be home by six. It's three-thirty now. Call me, okay?" He slid the phone into his jacket pocket and sighed.  
  
Some wiseass walking by quipped at Nathan, "Coke dealer giving you the run-around, old sport?"  
  
"Fuck you," Nathan sneered, his face burning red and hot, and got back into his car.  
  
Since he was in town, he decided to go into the office and get some things done while he waited for Peter to call back. He thought about having a quick wank to relax himself, but decided against it, instead promising that he'd take it out that much more on Peter once he actually got a chance to see him.  
  
By the time Nathan had re-oriented himself on his deposition notes, it was almost five o'clock, and time to gun it for home; he'd be late, as it was. He checked his phone, to make sure he hadn't turned the ringer off, make sure no messages had been left.  
  
Nothing.  
  
For the first time in his entire life, Nathan kicked over his chair, clenching his fists, and screamed "FUUUUCK!" at the ceiling. Then he calmly set his chair back upright, straightened his collar and cuffs, and let himself out. The security guard seated just outside the office blinked at Nathan. "You okay in there?" asked the guard.  
  
"Oh, yeah, sure," said Nathan calmly, with a politician's toothy grin. "Thank you. Good night."  
  
When Nathan got home (twenty-five minutes late, even though he'd been speeding the whole way back), Heidi handed Simon off to the nanny and gave Nathan a distracted smile. "How was tennis?" she asked.  
  
"Tennis?" Nathan replied. "Oh. Yeah. Tennis. Uh. Fine." It was painfully obvious that he hadn't done any kind of exercise that afternoon. He'd claimed "tennis" as an excuse earlier to disguise how flushed and sweaty he'd be after Peter, even after a shower. "Actually, I ended up going to the office instead."  
  
"Oh, honey. The case is a cinch, isn't it? You need exercise, not study." She gave him a little kiss on the cheek. "Dinner's in ten."  
  
Nathan watched her walk away toward the dining room, wishing she would never wear pants, especially not those black pants, because she looked too much like what he shouldn't be thinking about. _Oh God, that ass, like firm, hot, underripe fruit in his hands..._ Nathan went to the bathroom to wash his hands, and wished that he didn't ever have to set foot in a bathroom ever again, because it reminded him too much of what he shouldn't be thinking about. _Oh God, that cock, that tangy burst of spunk in his mouth, that tight slippery hole surrendering to the pressure of his fingers, that whisper... oh too much... please, more..._  
  
Dinner came and went, and Nathan begged some alone time outside. If Heidi was bothered by this, she didn't show it, and Nathan wondered briefly if that was one of the reasons why he loved her so much, why they were such a good match - she didn't ask too many questions.  
  
Nathan walked a restless circuit around the house, and nearly jumped out of his skin when his cell phone finally rang. He snatched it up, saw Peter's name on the caller ID, and took a moment to compose himself before he answered. "Yeah," he said, as though he was in the middle of something terribly interesting.  
  
"Hey, uh." Peter sounded terrible. "Sorry."  
  
"And?"  
  
"I just... I went to a party last night, because it's my night off. And I was nervous trying to talk to this girl and I ended up getting really, really fucked up. I drank too much and smoked too much pot, so I didn't throw up early on, like I should have. So I had alcohol poisoning, basically. I haven't stopped puking all day; it's been about half an hour, so I figure I've got a break and I can call you... I was this close to going to the emergency room, but I didn't want it getting back to the school. You don't want to come over here, anyway; my bathroom looks like something out of _Caligula_. It's horrible."  
  
How could Peter be too nervous to talk to some girl when, three years ago, he had no problems saying to Nathan, _I want you to fuck my ass until there are tears coming out of my eyes_? When he repeatedly swore his eternal sexual servitude? When he _knew_ that in bed, he was a cross between a kitten and a Camaro? Nathan's tightly wrapped rage came unraveled. "Don't you _ever_ do something like that again! I had to rework my entire day for you, and for nothing. My whole fucking day is wasted over your sorry ass. I could kill you."  
  
"I'm glad to know you care that I'm all right," Peter said.  
  
"Oh, no, you don't get to play that card. I've got a right to feel the way I do. It's been four months, Peter. Four months." Nathan's hand, holding the phone, shook so badly he wished he had an earpiece instead, and promised himself that he'd order one online as soon as he went back inside.  
  
"And four days," Peter added quietly. "I know." When Nathan said nothing, Peter continued, with an edge of good humor creeping into his voice, "You need me, huh? You said you need me. I like that."  
  
"Fuck you," Nathan whispered furiously.  
  
"I'm always and totally—"  
  
"I said fuck you," Nathan snapped, and hung up, and went back toward the house. The phone rang within seconds, and Nathan switched it to silent, then turned the phone off altogether. Once inside, Heidi just smiled at him pleasantly, and Nathan congratulated himself yet again for being able to keep his emotions off his face.  
  


* * *

  
  
Life got in the way again. Nathan spectacularly won his case in court, and people began to drop hints that he should go into local politics. Simon got two teeth at once, and Heidi said, seemingly happily, that she was pregnant again. Peter got straight A's in school, and got enough tutoring gigs that he was able to cut back his night-shift job to part time. They kept in touch now, sending a daily barrage of one-minute phone conversations and brief text messages.  
  
Trying, in vain, to find an hour where they could see each other alone.  
  
And then Dad ended up in the hospital again.  
  
This time, Nathan knew exactly what was going on, and he found himself so angry with his father that he could barely speak. Carbon monoxide poisoning, this time; he wondered when Dad would finally cowboy up and put a bullet in his skull. Cowardly fucker. If he was too chicken to even talk about what had him so scared, he probably was better off dead.  
  
Maybe Dad was gay. Maybe that would explain things.  
  
Nathan was so absorbed in keeping his feelings in check at his father's hospital bedside that he didn't notice Peter's arrival.  
  
Peter stood next to where Nathan sat, beside their unconscious father hooked up to all manner of blipping machines, and rested his hand on Nathan's shoulder. Nathan looked up with a start. "Oh! Pete," he said, practically singing with relief, and he stood up and put his arms around his brother. Peter clutched back tight. "This is so... fucked."  
  
"The heart's a tricky thing," Peter murmured back.  
  
Nathan drew back and stared at Peter for a moment, only belatedly remembering Peter's version of events. What Mom had told him, because Nathan just couldn't lie to Peter right now. He could, however, say nothing, so he just stared, furiously blinking back the threatening tears. Peter hugged Nathan tightly again, misinterpreting the tears as grief instead of anger. "It's gonna be okay, Nathan, really. It's fine. He'll be ... up and about again in a week."  
  
"Yeah, yeah."  
  
Peter took Nathan's face between his hands and kissed him, long, soft, and slow on the lips, and Nathan felt all of the anger and bitterness and resentment just drip out of him into the earth. Peter briefly rested his forehead against Nathan's, then drew him back in for a hug, radiating waves of comfort. Instantly, their breathing synched together, and they stood holding each other, backs rising and falling together as though they were one creature.  
  
A faint clicking on the floor announced their mother's arrival in the room, and Nathan gave her a double-take, first still locked in the dreamy reverie produced by Peter's kiss, then suddenly going pale and wide-eyed. She raised her eyebrows just fractionally, and walked right up to them and hugged them both at once. Almost right away Peter was in her arms, clinging to her exactly the way he had done since he was a baby, even though he was several inches taller than her now. He gripped her lapels, the strong, trusting, but needy way a baby monkey holds onto its mother.  
  
Nathan finally got it.  
  
Mom hugged Peter back for a long time, then said gently, "Nathan, may I talk to you outside for a moment?" At Nathan's nod, she delicately plucked Peter off her, and sat him down in the chair with a big kiss on the top of his mop of hair.  
  
Out in the hallway, Nathan stared at his feet, his cheeks burning now under his mother's examination. "Nathan," she said, picking imaginary lint off his sweater, tipping his chin up with her fingertip. "Look at me. Let me see those eyes of yours." She smiled at him, lowering her eyelashes in appreciation; Nathan marveled again at how pretty she was. But she looked into his eyes, and her smile clicked off, and it was Mom again, and he'd better do what she told him. "Whatever it takes to get you both through this," she said, "you should do."  
  
Nathan swallowed. "Yes, Mom."  
  
"I'm going to go talk to the doctor. And you go in there, and you go be Peter's big brother."  
  
"Yes, Mom."  
  
She kissed him on the cheek and walked away. Nathan slowly went back into the room. Peter bent over their father, holding his pale hand up to Peter's cheek. Peter sat back when Nathan approached, ran his hands through his hair, and sighed. "Yeah, he's gonna be okay," he said with genuine assurance in his voice, as though he'd been the one to bring Dad back from the brink. Nathan didn't really doubt it.  
  
"Hey," Nathan said, "let's go get a drink."  
  
Peter smiled. "As long as they have tonic water. I'm still off the sauce."  
  
"Got tonic water at your place?"  
  
"Yeah," Peter replied, after a moment's thought, another moment's understanding.

* * *

  
  
"I... am always and totally and forever your sex slave," Nathan said, slowly, experimentally, testing the sound of it in his own voice.  
  
Peter, lying naked next to him, blinked at him, and trailed his finger in the sweat on Nathan's chest. "Yeah," he said. "Is this news to you?"  
  
"Yeah," said Nathan.  
  
"The fact of the matter..." Peter drawled, reaching over to his nightstand and squeezing more lube onto his fingers, "is that... I'm yours." He slid two fingers back into Nathan, at the same time kissing his jaw and his neck, kissing the scars. "And you're mine." He twisted his fingers, partially drew them out, then thrust them back firmly. "No matter what happens." Peter nibbled Nathan's lower lip, kissed it, then lay back, his fingers randomly thrusting, probing, tickling. "Whether you like it or not."  
  
"It's not about... liking it, Peter," Nathan whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and then grinning. "It's about loving it."  
  
"I like it too. No. Wait. I love it." Peter caressed Nathan's stomach with the other hand. Then his face clouded suddenly, and his hands stopped moving. "Nathan, I'm scared."  
  
"Why are you scared?" Nathan asked quietly, respectfully, even though he wished that Peter hadn't stopped, wished he didn't have to think and be scared, too. Nathan didn't get to be scared; he was the big brother. _So why was he scared so much of the time?_ "I'm right here."  
  
"You remember... I don't know if you remember... when you were visiting one time... I was in first grade. And I told you that I wished something bad would happen to me?"  
  
Nathan sighed, and moved off of Peter's fingers, tossing him a towel from the far side of the bed. Peter absent-mindedly wiped his fingers, then put more lube on them and started stroking his own dick, his eyes unfocused, completely lost in thought. Nathan watched him, transfixed. "Yeah. I remember. I thought it was a weird thing for a little kid to say."  
  
"I feel like... that something bad is gonna happen. That my wish is coming true. And that it will keep coming true." Peter's voice rose in urgency, and his hand moved faster and harder. "What happened to Dad... has something to do with it."  
  
"Peter..." Nathan grabbed Peter's hand and put it on his own cock, substituted his hand on Peter's, and lay on top of him, kissing Peter enough so that he couldn't talk. Not until he came, anyway, which he did satisfyingly quickly, all over Nathan's hand and wrist.  
  
As soon as Peter stopped gasping, though, he said, "It has to do with you and me."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Nathan said disbelievingly, kissed Peter hard, roughly wiped his wrist against his mouth, and rubbed his cock against Peter's soaking-wet stomach. He was already so close, but not quite close enough. Nathan murmured in Peter's ear, "Put your fingers back in me and keep your mind on what you're doing. Don't be scared. I'm here."  
  
"Yeah," Peter replied shakily, reaching between them, forcing Nathan to rise up slightly on his bent knees to give Peter's fingers access. That was exactly it; exactly the confluence of sensations that Nathan needed. Peter moaned with him, in unison, sharing breath again until Nathan groaned in senseless ecstasy, and Peter began to laugh with sheer wonder and joy. "Oh, Nathan, Nathan, yeah, that's it. Uh huh, you and me, right there."  
  
Nathan sank down onto Peter's thighs for a moment, then lay down again alongside, quivering. Peter wrapped his arm around Nathan's shoulder and hugged him, still laughing a little. "Don't be scared," Nathan repeated, kissing Peter's shoulder, laughing a little himself. "As long as we've got this. Is that what you're afraid of? I'm not going anywhere."  
  
"No, I..." Peter shook his head. "I can't tell you. I don't know what it is specifically; it's just this feeling that I have. It's nothing, probably. I'm just tired. And I miss you."  
  
"Just remember us together," Nathan whispered. "I remember all the time."  
  
"Love me, no matter what?"  
  
"I love you, no matter what. Now get some sleep." Nathan kissed Peter's forehead, feeling the younger man already slipping away. "Whatever happens, I'll be there."

**Author's Note:**

> At one point in time I thought the series would end here... little did I know! Thank you for reading!
> 
> Ritual Readers' Guide [to come]


End file.
